Chapter 159 The Matriarch's Blessing

Chapter 159 The Matriarch's Blessing
  The morning air at my parents' estate was crisp, a sharp contrast to the suffocating stench of the hotel room I’d left hours ago. I was in my father’s study, the scent of old leather and expensive bourbon grounding me as we looked over the files Ayisha had compiled on the Cortez family.

"The parents are old-school, Mateo," my father said, his eyes scanning the map of the Cortez estate in the countryside. "They live for their reputation. Finding out Valentina has been playing house with her high school mistake in a hotel you paid for? It’ll crush them again after her " supposedly visit to a family" when they sent her away."

"That’s the point," I muttered, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the mahogany desk. "I want the original birth records. I want the hospital files. I want every piece of leverage they have over Isabella."

The door swung open, and the sharp click of heels announced my mother’s arrival before she even spoke. She stood in the doorway, an amused smirk playing on her lips as she looked between us.

"Ganging up on someone without me?" she asked, her voice light but her eyes sharp. "I’m hurt. Truly."

I managed a small, tired smile. "Just family business, Ma."

She walked over, ruffling my hair as she passed—a gesture that always made me feel ten years old again—before settling into the armchair opposite us.

"I was joking. But Isabella is family now, which means her problems are mine. I heard about the café. I heard about Valentina." She said.

The room went quiet for a beat. My mother’s humor faded, replaced by a cold, protective steel. "She’s a disgrace to every woman who has ever held a child. Now, tell me about the birthday. I heard the gossip from the staff."

"The 28th," I said, a sense of irony washing over me. "The same day as your gala. She was born in a London alleyway on the same day you celebrate your foundation."

My mother froze. Her eyes widened, a rare look of genuine surprise crossing her face. Slowly, she reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a small, velvet box. She slid it across the desk toward me.
Inside was a ring. A vintage, pear-cut diamond surrounded by a halo of sapphires. My father’s wedding gift to her.

"No," I said immediately, pushing it back. "Ma, that’s too much. Dad had that made for you. I can’t take that."

"It’s staying in the family, Mateo," she said firmly, her gaze brookign no argument. "Besides, that girl has been through enough to deserve a crown, let alone a ring. Give it to her. Make her a Rossi in every way that matters." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"And when you go to see the Cortezes... reek havoc. Make sure that bitch pays for what she did to our girl."

My father looked at me then—a long, steady gaze that told me to be careful, to be calculated. I nodded once. I knew the line between vengeance and business.

Well, he had always been a man of peace. He said that was how he never had or won an argument against his wife.

When my father stepped out to take a call, the room fell into a softer silence. My mother stood up and returned a moment later with a plate of her famous "sick" crackers and a steaming cup of tea.

"I'm not sick, Ma," I sighed, though I took the tea anyway.

"You look like you haven't slept in forty-eight hours," she countered, kissing my forehead. "It’s been two days since the DNA test. I assume you spent yesterday tracking every move the Cortezes made. You're worried."

I didn't ask how she knew about the NIPP test. In this house, secrets had a way of floating to the surface. I let out a dry laugh. "I wonder why I became such a stalking creep. My parents apparently stalk me for a living."

She laughed it off, leaning against the desk. "When you finally get Isabella settled and the ring is on her finger, tell me if you haven't tracked her location at least once a day. It’s what we do, Mateo. The things you do for the people you care about... and for power. People as powerful as us need to be ten steps ahead all the time. Being a 'creep' is just another word for being a protector."

I shrugged, the weight of the birth certificate still heavy on my mind. "But the certificate... if I find the original, does it make her a citizen? She was born here, to a British mother."

My mother hummed thoughtfully. "I’ll ask your father about the legalities. He knows which palms to grease at the Home Office."

I ran a hand over my face. "I told Nathan to leave today. I sent someone to escort him to the Heathrow. But what if he rats her out? What if he tips off immigration out of spite before he leaves?"

My mother watched me, her gaze narrowing, searching my face for the cracks I was trying so hard to hide.

"One thing at a time, Mateo. Does she even know yet? Does she know she was born here, in this city?"

I stayed silent. I hadn't told her about the alleyway. I hadn't told her that her "birthmark" was a scar from the woman who shared her blood.

"Isn't it a lot of stress?" I muttered, looking at the tea.

My mother didn't blink. She just watched me with that knowing, maternal gaze that saw right through the billionaire facade.

"Love is stress, Mateo. But losing her would be worse. Now finish your tea. You have a family to destroy." She tapped my face twice.